


Love, Maybe

by sasha_b



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Comment Fic, Drunkenness, Gen, aramis and his hat, spoilers for episode six
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 22:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2043072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis remembers something he might actually want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love, Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> For LJ community Comment Fic: _life is messy_.
> 
> SPOILERS for Season One, episode six, **The Exiles**.
> 
> I like the idea that Athos and Aramis are secretly better friends than they let on. I also like the idea that despite Aramis being the sexy lothario type, he also wants more.
> 
> ETA: JESUS I only posted half this fic the first time. *headdesk* corrected post is up now. I can't even.

Aramis wants to stay and watch Agnes walk away - he knows she's got plenty of money and will be safe (he hopes; he'd never forgive himself if she wasn't) - but the others are ready and his own mount is chomping at the bit.

The pissy misty rain wets his hair and he finally claps his hat back on his head, the feathers bedraggled (which annoys him), his coat damp and his skin goose-pimpling from the dank air. He watches until she is almost out of sight, the darkness of her hood finally obscuring her bright hair.

_Sixteen? And you've never loved again?_

He rolls lips inward and turns his horse on Porthos' impatient shout, wheeling the animal about, heading over the hill and away from … something he's not sure what might have been.

*

He's really drunk.

Not just tipsy or what he considers comfortably numb, but _drunk_ enough that the walls of the tavern they're in (their regular haunt) are melting and he puts his hand out to catch the ugly paint as it flows, sparkling and muddy, through his glove covered hands. He smiles at it, but then frowns as it won't stay still enough for him to catch. 

He picks up his goblet and snarls at Athos, who's stopped him being able to lift it. The other musketeer's face is smooth and unfeeling as it almost always is (although Aramis remembers the night at the derelict chateau rather well) but Aramis, in his haze, thinks he might detect something of a -

"Enough." Athos takes the cup from him, and secrets it someplace Aramis can't see. His snarl turns into a low growl, and he stands, wavering, the melting walls melting _sideways_ now and reaches for the disappeared cup. Athos puts his hand on Aramis' shoulder, and he stops swaying. The crackling of the fire in the tavern is suddenly way too loud and Aramis pushes past the other man; his sword and musket heavy at his waist, threatening to drag him down. His hat he carries in his hand - he attempts to put it on - managing at last, but he has the feeling it's cockeyed. Well, that's a new fashion he can take credit for. Another one.

Athos follows him silently out of the tavern, and catches him up easily. The moon and stars are bright and Aramis finds himself looking upward, their twinkling distracting and he trips over something in the mean street and sits abruptly on an overturned wine cask at the edge of a closed shop. Athos looks down at him from underneath his hat, one eyebrow raised imperially, and Aramis sighs.

"You need to wear it like this," he states, pointing at his askew headwear. Athos' smooth face crinkles once, and Aramis slumps. He needs more drink.

"She asked me if I'd loved," he adds, and Athos nods. "I have, y'know. It's just been a long time. And I don't need it," he speeds up, slurring only a bit. He may be drunker than he's been in a long time, but he's still himself and the drink only adds to it. He is Aramis, damn it, and he can do this. The night presses him down further into his coat - fuck it, it's chilly. He needs more wine. He stands. Athos pushes him back down.

"Stay here. Porthos will be coming," the other man murmurs. "He'd never forgive me if I left you face down in the muck." A crooked smile crosses Athos' haunted - haunted? Aramis smiles; he's such a romantic at heart - face and Aramis slaps a loose fingered hand on Athos' arm. "He can talk. I had to scrape mud off his face in the middle of the night a fortnight ago - and he didn't even bother to share the drink!"

Silence. Aramis snorts and thinks that Athos is quite a hypocrite for hiding drink from him, but before he can say anything the other man speaks suddenly. 

"I'm sorry you had to be the one," he says, no inflection, sitting next to Aramis on the barrel. The leather of his coat creaks and Aramis finds himself staring oddly at the other man's boots - they are fine and expensive and he wonders just what Athos gave up when he left his home - he'll worm it out of the other man at some point. Athos' shoulder is warm through his pauldron and Aramis finds himself suddenly wet eyed and - God help him. He leans into the touch of the other man and is very thankful that Athos merely sits there and doesn't say anything else.

"I could have loved her," Aramis murmurs as the moon shifts over their heads while they wait for Porthos and whatever mode of conveyance he's procuring. "I could have loved her and that baby." He can actually still feel that baby in his arms, really. Can still feel the touch of Agnes' lips on his at the last. Kindness, not lust. Odd. But something he remembers from long ago, and wants again.

Athos nods again, his hat dipping to hide his eyes, but Aramis can see him clutching at the necklace he wears constantly. He'll get the story out of him, one day.

But not right now. The drink is slightly wearing off and his jacket is not enough to ward off the chill he feels - he shudders and Athos touches his knee with gloved fingers and Aramis smiles through the wet in his eyes and goes to scrub a hand through his hair. He knocks his beautifully askew hat off and when he leans forward to snatch it up -

_I would ask you to come with us._

_But you already have a family._

He picks up the hat and sits back up, the sound of hooves getting closer, and holds the stiff felt in his hands, allowing his face direct exposure to the world despite its expression of hurt and loss and _family_ and Athos sits with him until Porthos rounds the corner with horses for them to ride home.


End file.
